Chapter 2 - Rules for Falling
Wyatt arrived at Bennett Blooms the next afternoon carrying two coffees and a paper bag.
I stood behind the counter wrestling with an arrangement that had begun to resemble an angry hedge.
“You’re early,” I said.
“You said five.”
“It’s four.”
“I wanted to see your shop.”
My assistant, Ruby, looked up from trimming stems.
Then she looked at me.
Then at him.
“I suddenly need something in the stockroom,” she announced.
“We don’t have a stockroom.”
“Then this may take a while.”
Wyatt set the bag down.
“Turkey sandwich. The café said you usually forget lunch on Thursdays.”
“That café needs a privacy policy.”
“Would you prefer I take it back?”
My stomach answered before I did.
He smiled and stepped away from the worktable.
I noticed that. Grant used to move things, inspect receipts, offer improvements nobody requested.
Wyatt asked before touching a bucket.
“These?”
“Dahlias.”
“They look complicated.”
“They’re dramatic, thirsty, and expensive.”
“Hospitality executives, then.”
By the time Ruby returned from her imaginary errand, I had eaten half the sandwich.
Wyatt drove us to his aunt’s house along a road bordered by stone walls and early autumn trees.
“What does she know?” I asked.
“That I’m bringing someone.”
“Does she know this is temporary?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
He glanced over.
“You’re right. That feels different when you say it aloud.”
“You’re allowed privacy. I just don’t want to become a joke she wasn’t invited to understand.”
For the rest of the drive, he was quiet.
Eleanor Calloway lived in a cedar-shingled house overlooking the water. She opened the door herself, wearing reading glasses on a chain and holding a wooden spoon.
“So,” she said, examining Wyatt. “You found a woman willing to tolerate your calendar.”
“For three weeks,” he replied.
I turned toward him.
He kept his eyes on his aunt.
“Laurel helped me with something last night. We agreed to attend a few events together. We’re still deciding what that means.”
Eleanor looked from him to me.
Then she stepped aside.
“How refreshing. An introduction that includes the truth.”
At dinner, she asked about my shop.
Not its revenue.
Not whether I hoped to expand.
She asked which flowers lasted longest on a kitchen table and whether customers still sent handwritten cards.
“My husband sent me carnations every Friday,” she said. “People think roses are romantic. Forty-two years of remembering Friday is romantic.”
Wyatt watched her with an expression I hadn’t seen at the club.
Tenderness made him look younger.
After dinner, Eleanor took me into her greenhouse while he answered a call.
“Has he told you about his mother?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then I’ll let him.”
She adjusted a pot on the bench.
“But whatever arrangement you two have, be kind to each other.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know. You asked before cutting that dead leaf.”
On the drive home, Wyatt apologized for the phone call.
“A hotel renovation in Vermont. Broken pipe.”
“Very glamorous.”
“Most of my life involves invoices and water damage.”
I rested my head against the seat.
“Why does your aunt worry so much?”
He drove another mile before answering.
“My mother died when I was sixteen. Eleanor took me in. My father was alive, but grief made him disappear into work.”
“And you followed him?”
“Yes.”
The honesty settled between us.
At the shop, he walked me to the door.
Through the glass, I saw a white envelope lying on the floor beneath the mail slot.
The return address belonged to Harbor Commercial Management.
My landlord.
I opened it while Wyatt waited.
The property had been placed under a purchase agreement.
The prospective buyer intended to redevelop the entire block.
Existing tenants would receive further notice concerning lease termination.
My hands went cold.
“What is it?” Wyatt asked.
I handed him the letter.
He read it once.
Then again.
Something in his face tightened.
“You know about this,” I said.
“I recognize the project.”
The wind moved between us.
“Why?”
He looked at me, and the warmth of the evening disappeared.
“Because Mercer House submitted it as part of their expansion proposal.”
I stepped back.
“The proposal your company is considering?”
“Yes.”
May you like
Behind me, the shop smelled of roses, damp earth, and the eucalyptus my father had planted in an old paint bucket.
Everything I had asked Wyatt not to fix was suddenly something his signature might destroy.
